Night of the Reindeer
by Wraithfodder
Summary: An SGA Christmas story. Colonel Sheppard's team should never go through the gate on Christmas eve. It just never works out.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: **Night of the Reindeer**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
RATING: T  
CATEGORY: Action/humor  
SPOILERS: Based in season 2.

_Copyright Disclaimer_: The _Stargate Atlantis _characters, as presented on the series, belong to MGM, Sci Fi, and other registered copyright holders. No copyright infringement is meant or intended by the writing and posting of this material. I'm just borrowing the characters and the universe for a piece of non-profit 'fan fiction' and will return in one piece (well, usually). However, all original characters and story material are copyright to author. Please do not repost this fiction, in whole or in part, anywhere, without expression written permission of the author.

**SUMMARY: Colonel Sheppard's team should never go through the gate on Christmas eve. It just never works out. An SGA Christmas tale.**.

* * *

**Night of the Reindeer**

**PART 1**

He couldn't believe that someone had dumped the vile thing on his desk. His desk. What had he done to irritate someone so much that someone would do _this_ to him? Well, there was no way in hell he was getting stuck with the damn thing. Christmas was just a day away and wasn't re-gifting a totally acceptable practice nowadays?

He didn't care if it was or wasn't the proper thing to do. He wasn't accepting the damn thing and would feign ignorance or brain damage from the chemicals he inhaled all day. Dr. Rupert Grange scratched at his thinning red hair, but then it came to him: he knew _exactly_ upon whom to inflict the hideous creation.

And it wouldn't be any real problem as he wore gloves all the time, so he'd leave behind no telltale fingerprints. He knew exactly where to place the package. In fact, within a few hours, it wouldn't even be in Atlantis, let alone on the planet. Rupert cackled, realizing he sounded so much like the Grinch that it amused him. He'd always played the Grinch in school plays.

* * *

John Sheppard's head was slammed down so hard on the wood that he was sure his jaw was probably broken from the blow, but he really didn't care at that point if that had happened or it he'd had several teeth knocked out because he really had a lot more pressing problems at the moment. 

"Guys, we can talk this out!" he almost begged.

Two sets of burly hands pressed his shoulders against the wood, and even the strong tactical vest didn't prevent the pain of the wood's sharp edges from digging into his collarbones but then again, he didn't care. Nor did he care that his fingers were probably turning purple as they'd bound his hands so tightly behind his back that he was sure he was probably going to have permanent nerve damage.

No, what had his heart racing like he'd ingested a bottle of illegal drugs was that someone grabbed his head and pinned it down to the wood with a thick leather strap, all the while stretching his neck out like a turkey the day before Thanksgiving.

He could hear the frantic noises from his teammates, who were similarly trussed up and waiting in line for their turn with the executioner, except that they were all gagged. Tersen, the leader of the Lubri society, had tired very quickly of Rodney's loud and non-stop protestations of innocence, and he'd ordered everybody gagged hours ago, leaving Sheppard to try to talk his way out of this mess. And he'd done a lot of talking. His voice was getting ragged from talking. And he knew that in a few minutes, he'd lose that capability forever.

Sheppard felt one set of burly hands on his back relax for a fraction of a second and he threw his body's weight back with all his might. He felt something score and tear over an ear but for a moment, but he was free, falling back to the dirt behind him to land in a very undignified heap. Escape was impossible as his feet were tied together as well, yet he tried to scrabble away, digging his feet into the dirt. The two thug types simply grabbed his upper arms so hard that he yelped from the pain. They slammed his head down on the wood again. This time he saw stars and tasted blood. He knew he wouldn't taste any of the massive spurts of blood when they lopped off his head.

The snick of the huge axe being removed from its leather holder echoed sharply in his ears. His eyes shot open. His team was staring at him in sheer horror. Rodney looked like he was ten seconds away from having a stroke. It would be a better death, that's for sure.

Tersen's face was suddenly just inches away as the large man knelt down in front of him. Sheppard had really gotten a bad feeling when he'd first seen the guy: beady black eyes, a thick beard that any pirate would give his right hand and hook for, and an attitude that belonged in a pro wrestling ring. "You cannot escape punishment," the beefy man warned.

"Listen, we're not from Elasat!" Sheppard protested for the hundredth time.

"Yes, you only wish to trade," spat Tersen. Sheppard really hated that he was going to die with the jerk's spit on his face. "Then why does that one-" Tersen pointed angrily at Ronon. "Carry a sword of Elasat metalwork!"

"Because he picked it up at a friggin' swap meet!" Sheppard shot back angrily, and then yelped at a pain in his ear. Great, drive a damn splinter into his head before they kill him. "Ungag him and ask him!" As if he hadn't begged for that about three dozen times already.

Sheppard realized he really had to work on panicking. He did not do panic well. He did not do being beheaded well. Especially being beheaded in a case of mistaken identity! It was one thing to be tied up for hours and threatened with the fate. Being laid out on the wood was a totally different scenario.

"The Elasat cannot be trusted." Tersen stood, but not before running his finger across Sheppard's exposed neck as if marking just where the blade would fall. "Had you brought a token of your trading intentions, then perhaps we would be open to negotiations."

_Token_? "Why the hell didn't you ask before? Just look in our stuff!" Sheppard gestured for a quick second with his head, before thug #1 smashed it down on the wood again. He was trying to point out McKay's backpack, which had been removed from the scientist's back hours ago and simply dumped like trash underneath a nearby tree, along with Ronon's sword and everybody's weapons. Good god, he really hoped McKay had some stupid piece of technology stashed away in there that they'd ooh and ahh over and figure it wasn't was worth slicing off their heads after all.

"What of your vest?" came a terse, nasal voice. That was Catton, Tersen's obvious right-hand man who had extremely sinewy forearms poking out from beneath the dark-brown, fur jackets they all wore.

"Yes, fine, search me," Sheppard said with almost a sigh. He couldn't believe that he had to give permission for them to search them, but they'd had no problem with beating them into submission, trussing 'em up like turkeys for the slaughter, and hovering a sharp blade over his neck! Hell, they could strip search him if it stopped this insanity, but he'd sure as heck draw the line at any body cavity searches.

Thugs #1 and #2 yanked him off the block, much to his relief, but didn't bother to untie his hands as they ripped open and emptied all the pockets in his tactical vest. Medical supplies, some powerbars, ammo clips and the like fell to the ground.

Tersen poked at the scattered items with his heavy boot. His large hand grabbed into Sheppard's unruly hair, yanking his head back at a sharp angle. "I see no tokens here." Sheppard's head was slammed back on the wood, the thick leather band tied back down.

"We're not from Elasat," repeated Sheppard dismally, spitting out some more blood. Those words would be chiseled on his gravestone. Oh wait, was anybody even going to find their bodies so they could have graves?

McKay's strangled noises were increasing. Sheppard looked over at his doomed companions, forcing reassurance into his eyes even though he knew he was just as scared out of his wits as they were. He sincerely hoped that McKay would pass out before they dragged him to the block. Teyla would be able to handle it stoically and he really truly hoped that Ronon mangled one of these maniacs before he met his maker.

A sharp, scraping sound filled his ears. Hands pressed down on his shoulder like a vice. Crap, they were sharpening the blade. Well, better a sharp blade than a dull blade. He'd hate to have to endure the edge of a blunt axe.

He stared at McKay, whose piercing blue eyes were staring back at him like hubcaps. He was wobbling on his knees. The Lubri had kept them on their knees for hours, but then he noticed… what the hell? "Backpack," Sheppard nearly screamed in realization. "Check McKay's backpack!" Why the hell weren't they doing that? Were these people deaf or something? Did they need a sticky note stuck on their foreheads to remember?

"The sharp-pitched one?" Catton said in disgust, gesturing at McKay as if he were an undesirable rodent to be exterminated.

"Yes, yes, you have my permission to search his pack. Before you hack my head off, if you don't mind," Sheppard added under his breath.

A reprieve. A precious few more seconds of life as he frenetically tried to think of any way to forestall the permanent inevitable fate they were all spiraling toward. "Talk to Teyla," he ordered Tersen. "She's from Athos. Surely you've heard of Athos. You trade after all. Teyla heard of you from the Luciets, who in turn heard from—"

"Silence!" Tersen snapped. Sheppard obeyed, only because he figured if he didn't, they'd shut him up in a very permanent way.

"Athos was destroyed by the Wraith," said Tersen, eyes narrowing to contemptuous slits. "It no longer exists."

Catton picked up McKay's backpack, rifling through it like a common criminal, pulling out a variety of items both useful and useless on a mission. Oh god, please let there be something in there that's acceptable. The man's a veritable packrat!

Seconds later, a dark glance was exchanged between Catton and Tersen. The other Lubri men, who all stood around quietly in the village square, looked on with ambivalence. His fate was sealed. The thugs pinned him down, tightening the strap across his head. He heard one last scrape of a sharpening stone against the blade. Oddly enough, he couldn't think of any last words to say, but heard the rush of air as the big guy with the axe hefted it up. He shut his eyes, trying to think of something pleasant so he wouldn't have a look of horror on his face when his head rolled off.

A strangled cry and then a thud against the dirt filled his ears. With a perverse delight, he realized Rodney had fainted. Good, he wouldn't have to see what came next.

The blade came down, the cold steel slicing his neck.

Sheppard held his breath, waiting for the excruciating pain to explode and end his existence, but nothing came. Instead, the cold vanished as the blade was lifted. Something landed with a loud thud right in front of his closed eyes.

"What manner of token is this?" Tersen sounded both intrigued and confrontational.

A second later, someone smacked him on the cheek and he blinked open his eyes. Oh, he must have lost his mind from the stress. He was looking a gaily-covered package, rectangular in shape. A herd of cartoon deer with big bulbous eyes and trinket-covered antlers, interspersed with bold red and white candy canes with little arms and legs against a background of diagonal stripes of bright silver, green and red, greeted his eyes.

There honestly might have been more decoration on the gaudy wrapping, but it all got fuzzy around the edges and turned to gray, just before Sheppard passed out.

* * *

_Big thanks to everyone for your comments. They're much appreciated:)_


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: **Night of the Reindeer**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
RATING: T  
CATEGORY: Action/humor  
SPOILERS: Based in season 2.

**SUMMARY: Colonel Sheppard's team should never go through the gate on Christmas eve. It just never works out. An SGA Christmas tale.**.

* * *

**PART 2**

"Where is it?"

Rupert looked up from his cell culture as the Czech scientist barged into his lab like a miniature whirlwind. Zelenka's hair looked more frazzled than usual, sticking out here and there as though the man had stuck his finger in a light socket. In his line of work, maybe he did. Zelenka was babbling something loud and no doubt obnoxious, but Rupert didn't bother to stop him as he had work to do.

Radek Zelenka practically stomped up to the counter. "Well?"

"I don't speak Czech. Speak English," Rupert said with a thick layer of sarcasm.

"You know very well what I am talking about." Zelenka stood up to his full height, which still made him smaller and in Rupert's eyes, less significant. "Where is _it_?"

"Again, you're being unclear." Rupert wrote down some notations in a small notepad on his cell culture. Zelenka promptly snatched the pad away.

"You know very well what _it _it is that I am talking about," snapped Zelenka furiously. "It!"

"Oh, it," Rupert said with a laconic grin. "I got rid of it. What did you expect me to do with it? Keep it? Get real."

"Well, I need it!" demanded Zelenka.

"Nobody wants it." Rupert studied the Czech carefully. What on earth did he want with it? Nobody wanted it. That's why it was making the rounds on Atlantis like a vial of live anthrax spores.

"You gave it to someone, didn't you?" accused Zelenka.

Rupert laughed. "To the last person in the world who would ever want it."

Zelenka looked mortified. "No," he gasped.

"Oh yes," replied Rupert with a mirthful tug at his lips.

"Rodney will kill you."

"He's off-world, and it's with him." Rupert went back to his microscope. Ah, finally, he spotted what he was looking for.

"This is horrible!" Zelenka threw the notepad down on the counter, then dashed out of the room muttering more in Czech.

Rupert didn't see what the fuss what all about. After all, it was gone. Weren't they all better off now without it?

* * *

Oh yeah, breathing was required for being conscious. Sheppard sucked in a deep breath, then shook his head as awareness forced itself back into his mind. He found himself seated in a chair in a room. Heck, in a _room_. A far better cry from having his head stretched out on the chopping block. There was a large wooden table in front of him but luckily he didn't see any deep crevices where an axe might have fallen. Instead, it was just smooth and dark. 

"Sheppard." His name, hissed at him like a snake, came from the side. Rodney was there too, tied to a chair just as he was. Sheppard realized he could feel his fingers. His wrists felt like hell. The coarse ropes had probably abraded off half the skin, but at least his limbs were attached to his body. Having his body in one living, breathing piece meant a heckuva lot to him at the moment.

"Rodney," Sheppard blinked. Looking further behind, he saw Teyla and Ronon similarly bound, although Ronon had a lot more rope tied around him and he was fastened to one of the big posts that supported the beamed roof above them. Guess Ronon had given them some more trouble. Good for him. "Um, where are we?"

"Well, after you fainted—"

"Hello, my head was nearly chopped off," Sheppard pointed out acerbically. "And it was—" He struggled for a second to remember the word. "Anoxia. Yup."

"In your dreams," snorted McKay.

"Stop it," interrupted Teyla. "We should be glad that we are all alive at this point in time."

"So, what's the token thing?" spoke up Ronon.

Token? Token? Wait, he remembered seeing a Christmas present right before the lights went out. Well, it was Christmas the next day or maybe it was today – how long had he been out? He thought he'd been hallucinating something nice and inane before he croaked.

A door slammed open, startling Sheppard and drawing all of their attention to the front of the room, which was empty save for them, the table and several chairs on the other side of the table.

Tersen, Cattan and some old guy who looked like a reject from central casting for _Lord of the Rings_ with long gray hair and a heavy fur robe, came in and sat down in those chairs. They were very silent, staring at the team like they were deciding whether to drag them back to the chopping block. Sheppard sure hoped that wasn't the case.

Another man came in. He was big, hulk-like, and in staring at the man's hands, Sheppard realized it was thug #2. Hard to forget those massive fingers against his shoulders. He was gonna have bruises for sure. The thug set down an item in the middle of the table, right between Tersen and Sheppard, and then left. Okay, so he hadn't been hallucinating. It was a Christmas present.

"What token is this?" Tersen's intense stare was unnerving.

"Uh…" Sheppard turned to McKay. "Is that yours?"

"No," McKay replied quickly. "I've never seen it before in my life."

"It was in your backpack," Teyla said from behind. "Hidden at the bottom."

Both Sheppard and McKay exchanged a puzzled glance. Sheppard then coughed, cocked his head and stared at the package, thinking that the wrapping paper really was pretty tacky. "Well, why don't we just open it up and see?"

"Then you offer this as your token?"

Sheppard got the idea that he had better be really careful in what he said from now on and to whom. He turned his head, craning to get a look at Teyla. After all, who had more intel that she did about the locals in Pegasus. "Well?" he asked very quietly, almost a whisper. No use letting the Lubri think they were winging it.

Catching his hint, Teyla responded back with a whisper, but he couldn't quite catch what she said. "What?" he replied, leaning back in his chair. He felt his feet leave the floor and a second later his chair toppled over and he landed in Ronon's lap. The Setedan, who was tied down like a ship moored in a hurricane, looked down at him. "She said 'yes,'" Ronon growled. Teyla nodded in exasperation. A second later, thug #2 came over, dug his hand in the back of the chair and hauled Sheppard back up.

"Um, that would be a yes," Sheppard said, trying to regain his dignity.

The Lubri men discussed this answer very quietly amongst themselves. For a society that looked pretty primitive and was definitely of a bloodthirsty bent, they had very strange rituals. Sheppard just hoped the stupid wrapping wasn't concealing something lame like a manicure kit. If that was the case, they were toast.

After a moment's debate, Tersen began to examine the package. Out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw Rodney about to speak. He quickly kicked him in the ankle. "Ow, what did you do that for?" whispered McKay in a nasty tone. "Because you were going to say something!" Sheppard hissed back. "Because he's going to take forever to open it," complained McKay. Sheppard couldn't believe it. "And that's a _bad_ thing!"

McKay turned around to get backup from the others but Teyla looked totally annoyed and Ronon just shot him a dark glare that sufficiently silenced any further outburst. Sheppard didn't care if Tersen took all day to open the damned thing; the longer it took, the longer they stayed alive.

Tersen apparently was one of those people who dissected Christmas gifts in a compulsive manner. Using a knife better suited for gutting large animals, he carefully sliced the invisible tape holding the wrapping together, in the same manner that a surgeon peels back the layers of someone's insides. Within minutes, the package was laid bare, exposing a long, glittery gold box. Sheppard stared at it, hoping to spot some print on it that would divulge its content, but darn, nothing.

Okay, it could be a pedicure kit. Or maybe Petits Fours. Hopefully Petits Fours: the ones that were preferably soaked in liquor. Sheppard did his best to look both encouraging and happy in what was going on, but he had the sinking feeling when they pulled off that top, they'd find some computer part. What else would someone gift McKay with after all?

Tersen pulled the lid off very carefully. Sheppard hadn't seen that kind of precision since watching a bomb squad defuse a suspect package on a base in Afghanistan. The lid was placed aside and unfortunately, it was at the wrong angle for any of them to see precisely what lay inside.

The Lubri leader uttered an audible gasp. Shock or delight? Sheppard couldn't tell. Catton and the older guy, who hadn't said a single word, both leaned in to stare at the contents of the box. The older guy's eyes bulged and he quickly turned to Tersen, whispering frantically in his leader's ears. Tersen in turn looked to Catton, who nodded his head in silent agreement. Before leaving the room, he glanced over all of Sheppard's team with an odd look that left Sheppard feeling very unsettled.

The door shut behind Catton with a loud slam. A second later, it opened again, revealing thug #1 and thug #2. Both carried very, very large knives. Very sharp knives that gleamed wickedly in the light that streamed in from the one solitary small window on the side of the room. Both men advanced on the hapless team tied to their chairs.

"We're going to die," came Rodney's doomed cry.

Crap. It was a pedicure kit.

* * *

"Dr. Zelenka." 

Zelenka stopped in his tracks in the corridor, turning at Weir's voice. He smiled, but he realized he had to look as nervous as a cat surrounded by a dozen rocking chair. "Ah, Dr. Weir!"

The woman approached him from the end the corridor. She held an electronic otepad in hand. "I received your report on Section B2 on the east pier. It's quite fascinating."

"Yes," he beamed, momentarily forgetting the reason for his nervousness. "Dr. Beckett was quite interested in some of the equipment we found. It is very possible it is medical in nature."

"Well, anything medical will be of great help considering the way some of our teams are always getting injured," Weir said with a knowing smile. "Oh," she added. "Dr. Wilson said you might have located it."

"Yes, and no, Dr. Weir," Zelenka grimaced. He would have to remember never to do a favor for anyone again.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Weir looked a little disappointed, but at least not furious. "Please don't tell me someone threw it off a balcony."

"No no. Nothing quite that severe," he replied. "However…"

"I can take it," she said with a broad smile.

"Rodney has it."

Weir actually looked surprised. "But he wouldn't. Not in a million years…"

"Precisely. I believe it was 're-gifted' to him," explained Zelenka.

"As if he'd accept _that_ as a gift." Weir frowned as though deep in thought. "Wait, he's off-world with Colonel Sheppard. He didn't take it—"

"Yes, I believe so, although he may not be aware he has it." Zelenka shrugged. The worst was now out.

"Oh well." Weir didn't seem at all angry, which was odd. "It's no problem."

"But Dr. Wilson indicated—"

"Oh, Dr. Wilson gets a little stressed from time to time, particularly at this time of year," explained Weir. She blinked, then smiled as though unsure of how to proceed. "I hope he didn't give you the impression that it was of vital important to retrieve—"

"Oh nonono," Zelenka waved his hands, realizing he was picking up bad habits from Rodney and now mentally kicking himself for getting too wrapped up in the hunt. "However, I assumed it would have been nice to have had it for--"

"It's perfectly fine," assured Weir. "We can do without it. It's not as though heads will roll if we don't have it."

* * *

_To be continued..._

Oops, and big thanks to Gaffer42 for her betaing:)


	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: **Night of the Reindeer**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
RATING: T  
CATEGORY: Action/humor  
SPOILERS: Based in season 2.

**SUMMARY: Colonel Sheppard's team should never go through the gate on Christmas eve. It just never works out. An SGA Christmas tale.**.

* * *

**PART 3**

Sheppard could hear Ronon quite literally straining at his bonds as the thugs approached with the knives. No, they weren't going to have their heads hacked off with an axe. They were going to get their throats slit!

It all happened so fast that they had no time to react.

Sheppard sat there a second later, stunned. He rubbed at his sore wrists while staring at the table. Even Ronon seemed perplexed at the sudden change in venue and luckily the larger man had been the last one the thugs got to, otherwise the situation could have turned out radically different.

Their throats hadn't been slit, but the tight ropes restraining them had been cut, freeing them to get the blood circulating back in their limbs. In the time that it took for the 'thugs' to accomplish that feat, two women had come in and placed down a number of deep red dishes, accompanied by massively large mugs and a jug of something that even from where Sheppard sat, reeked suspiciously of something like ale.

With a caution reserved for perhaps an unstable container of nitroglycerin, Tersen removed the mystery item from the gold box and set it down on a long deep red plate.

_Not a pedicure kit,_ Sheppard thought in relief.

McKay gawked at the item, his face going from shock to... anger? "Oh my god!"

"It's the fruitcake, Rodney," said Sheppard. He made sure he nodded and smiled happily at the bigger men before them. They still had all the large knives and overwhelming manpower.

"Someone's trying to kill me," McKay whispered, much like a character in a bad melodrama.

"What?" Had McKay been knocked on the head?

"Fruitcake. As in fruit," McKay explained as though talking down to a three-year-old.

"They're not citrus, Rodney," pointed out Sheppard. "It's brandy, candied cherries, nuts. It's not chockfull of marmalade."

"Oh, for pete's sake. You can fly an alien spacecraft but don't realize that fruitcakes contain citron which is citrus," complained McKay under his breath. "I could have died of anaphylactic shock if I'd eaten that!" He suddenly stopped in the middle of a thought. "Wait, what do you mean, 'the' fruitcake?"

Not sure just how much he should say in front of their potentially homicidal hosts, Sheppard leaned over – carefully this time – and whispered "The one making the rounds on the base. Get in the loop, McKay. Someone just re-gifted it to you." Cripes, he'd heard that Lorne had gotten it, but he got rid of it quickly, and well, look where it had ended up now.

McKay looked very insulted. Sheppard wasn't sure if it was the fruitcake part or the re-gifting part that had him ticked off, or maybe it was equal parts of both. But he was slightly more interested in what Tersen was doing with the cake because if the Lubri didn't like it, they all still stood the chance of being killed where they sat.

Tersen sliced off a tiny piece of the fruitcake, which obviously wasn't a decade old and as hard as a rock, so that was good. It was presented to the old guy, who sniffed seriously at it like a connoisseur with a vintage glass of wine. He took a tentative taste, savoring the small bite. A second later, he beamed like he'd just found Nirvana.

Someone filled all the mugs with the heady brew. "We will trade!" announced Tersen cheerfully. Gone was the Attila-the-Hun clone and in his place as a jolly Santa clone, albeit all in black. "It has been a decat's age since anyone has brought us a Cassonic cake as a token!"

"Uh yeah," agreed Sheppard readily. He had no idea if a decat was a small furry animal like a raccoon or an element of time. Instead, he nodded at the rest of his team, who took the hint and went along with his spiel. Mugs were passed to both Sheppard and McKay, who sat at the head of the table. "We wanted it to be special," he said with a smirk, albeit a tiny one.

"Drink!" ordered Tersen, who proceeded to guzzle down his mug.

McKay sniffed at, then hesitantly tasted it. "Hmm, this is good."

Sheppard couldn't argue the point. It was delicious, and hours of trying to talk Lubri into not killing them had left him parched as the Sahara. At this point, he'd even drink swamp water.

**PART 4**

"Don't worry, ma'am. We'll find them and bring them home." Major Lorne nodded efficiently at Dr. Weir. At least this time his men didn't return to base, only to have to turn around immediately to go to some planet to find out just where Sheppard's team had gotten lost.

But, he shared her concern. The team was several hours overdue. It was supposed to be a simple meet-and-greet trade mission but more often than not, simple often got complicated when Colonel Sheppard and his team passed through the gate. It hadn't helped that when Stackhouse's team came back with one of the Athosian guides in tow, that man had mentioned that the Lubri didn't take well to strangers anymore. Lorne just hoped that nobody had said anything insulting, grimacing slightly at the thought of McKay and his big mouth. It was Christmas morning, and nobody wanted the spectre of death or dying today. Even those on the base who didn't celebrate the holiday were looking forward to some down time and general cheer.

The gate began to dial up.

"Incoming wormhole," came the call from the communications center above.

Lorne and his men backed up to join the security team that surrounded the gate's perimeter. He motioned for Weir to find safety out of the line of fire.

"It's Teyla's IDC," came the next call-out.

"Finally," Lorne muttered gratefully under his breath. A few seconds later, Sheppard's team came through the horizon. Graceful, however, did not describe their entrance. Teyla was doing her best to support McKay, but the man tripped and went splat face-first on the ground. That had to hurt, but Lorne had the distinct feeling that the scientist was feeling absolutely no pain at all. Ditto for the colonel, who seemed capable of standing for a moment, but then slid down against Ronon to land on his butt. He collapsed backwards.

The gate shut off, leaving absolute silence and a lot of confusion.

Teyla smiled. Lorne recognized that look. His mother had used the same tired expression on him when he'd done something wrong.

"The mission was a success," she announced. She put a small satchel bag down on the floor near her feet.

Lorne couldn't wait to hear this story.

Weir ran up to where two of her key people were flat out on the floor. Rodney was laughing about something unintelligible and Sheppard looked like he'd just passed out, but the stark bruising on his face looked pretty serious. "Call Beckett," she said to Lorne, who quickly contacted the infirmary.

"He'll be fine," Ronon said dryly, placing a large satchel on the floor next to him. "Negotiations went well."

"_Well_?" Weir looked like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Even Lorne thought Sheppard looked like someone had slammed the one side of his face into the floor. Repeatedly.

"Oh, that." Ronon looked down at the bruising. He poked Sheppard in the side a couple times with his boot, rousing the man back to consciousness. Sheppard's eyes opened to slits, but focusing was taking a lot more effort. "That was from when they were about to chop his head off. He didn't want them to do that."

"They were going to do _what_?" Lorne sputtered.

Sheppard grabbed on to Ronon's leg and pulled himself into an awkward seated position. He wrapped his arms around the leg as though it were a tree. The Setedan just looked down in mild disgust, as if a slug had attached itself to him. "Shoulda seen the axe," Sheppard said with a definitely drunk grin. "It was this big!" He waved his arms outward, in the classic 'the fish was this big' boast, and promptly fell face forward, just a few feet from where McKay lay. "Hey, Rodney."

McKay blinked open owlish eyes to spy his team leader not far away, and remarkably, on the same level plain. "Have to find him!" he blurted.

"We'll put out an APB," laughed Sheppard. "Oh hey, I can see the floor from here."

"What's he talking about?" Lorne asked, looking for help from the two standing members of the team.

"McKay thinks someone is trying to kill him," replied Ronon. He shrugged as if it were nothing.

Weir looked down at the scientist, who was currently busy studying the fingers in front of his face as if trying to decide how many he possessed. She put one hand to her forehead in total exasperation.

"Apparently someone put a 'fruitcake' into his backpack," said Teyla.

"He's allergic to some kind of fruit," continued Ronon.

"As if we don't all know that," added Lorne, who then went back to standing at attention at Weir's semi-stern glance.

"To quote Dr. McKay. I will make a long story short," said Teyla, looking down in near pity at the two fallen men. "The Lubri have become paranoid in trading deals due to betrayals to the Wraith, and now exact a token with each deal. If a token is not offered, the traders are executed."

"With an axe," summarized Ronon.

Lorne looked down at the base's highest-ranking military officer, who looked like he was drifting back into a drunken stupor. However, Lorne did notice a very fine red line across part of Sheppard's neck. That must have been a very close call indeed.

"And their particular state of inebriation comes from…?" pondered Weir.

"The fruitcake," replied Ronon.

"Ronon, I know that the fruitcake contained some brandy, but hardly enough to cause this," replied Weir, obviously puzzled at the situation, showing a hint that she wasn't happy that half a team had come back more plastered than a bunch of frat boys after a Saturday night, but Lorne could see relief in her eyes: relief that they were alive. It overshadowed all the other problems. Lorne was just glad no wraith stunner bolts were coming through an open event horizon, or spears, or whatever aliens were prone toward tossing these days.

"The 'fruitcake' was considered to be a Cassonic cake, a much revered gift," explained Teyla. "We were instantly accepted as trading partners."

"Which must be celebrated with drink," finished Ronon, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Obviously quite a bit," said Lorne, adding "Just an observation, ma'am."

"And a very astute one," nodded Weir. "Why are the two of you still standing?"

"Only the negotiators," and Rodney pointed at the fallen men, "were allowed to drink. In fact, they had no choice." Ronon looked like he wished he'd been one of the negotiators.

"I see," murmured Elizabeth.

"I do not believe the Colonel realized the true strength of the ale," Teyla added in defense of Sheppard.

"Ah," responded Weir, obviously at a loss at what else to say.

Any further conversation was interrupted as Beckett's team came running in with two gurneys. Beckett immediately rushed over to the fallen men, expecting the worst. Lorne just stepped back, clearing the way for the medical personnel, who swarmed over Sheppard and McKay like ants over a picnic lunch.

A moment later, Beckett made his pronouncement, and he didn't sound at all happy. Perhaps it was because McKay was blowing into his stethoscope as if it were a musical instrument. "They're drunk, Elizabeth."

"Yes, Carson, we know that."

Beckett suddenly found himself pulled toward the floor. Sheppard had rolled over onto his back and now had both hands dug into the man's white lab coat. "Psst, Carson," he slurred with a laugh. "Someone's tryin' n' kill Rodney."

"You!" McKay suddenly accused, jabbing an arm toward Beckett. "You put the fruitcake in my computer!"

"Ach, just how much did they imbibe?" sighed Beckett. He stood up, directing his people to get the two men to the infirmary. The task turned out to be exceptionally easy to accomplish, as both men were so relaxed they could practically be poured onto the gurneys.

Ronon crossed his arms. "Enough that they'll regret it tomorrow morning, and probably the rest of the week."

"I'll say," agreed Weir. Lorne watched she as stood between the gurneys. She was very protective of her people. That was one thing Lorne had observed since coming to Atlantis - even when missions screwed up like this.

"Major." Sheppard waved an arm, accidentally smacking Beckett, who merely shoved the arm back down to the gurney.

Lorne came up beside the gurney. "Sir?" Oh man, the colonel was already developing one beauty of a shiner on the left side of his face. The bruising was a nasty collage of blue, green and purple.

"Party? Oh hey, are we in time?" Sheppard looked around the room, but the act seemed to make him dizzy so he shut his eyes.

Lorne exchanged a glance with Weir, and if he picked up correctly on her expression, he'd just been given permission to lie to his superior. "Sorry, sir, you missed it," said Lorne. In reality, it would start in about four hours.

"No!" wailed McKay, startling everyone. "We were gonna sing!"

"Perhaps next year," soothed Weir. She patted the somewhat distressed man on the shoulder.

Beckett looked down at Rodney and before Lorne could stop him, asked "And what were the two of 'ye going to sing?"

Lorne winced. _Great, encourage McKay to talk! Or worse, sing!_

A massive grin enveloped McKay's face. "Decollate the halls with bows of holly," he sang, or rather, emitted in a painfully off-key rendition.

"That's deck," corrected Sheppard smugly from his gurney.

"Nononono," McKay slurred in a rapid response. "Decollate, don' you get it?" he insisted. He tried to sit up on the gurney, but was quickly and easily shoved down by two medics, who immediately strapped him down. "Decollate. Ha, get it! It's so appro- appro—it's juss right!"

The argument continued and dissipated as the gurneys were taken out of view.

"Permission to stand down, ma'am?" inquired Lorne.

Weir, smiling as though everything was right in the universe, and in a way it was, nodded.

"Thank you, ma'am," replied Lorne with a nod. "No offense, but the doc's singing is a bit much to take." He caught both Teyla and Dex nodding their heads slightly. He wondered how much of the drunken men's nonsense they'd had to put with on the journey back to the gate.

"But at least he's maintained a good sense of humor about what almost happened," continued Weir.

"I do not understand," said Teyla.

Weir looked over at the woman's puzzled face. "Decollate means to behead."

"I see," replied Teyla, but Lorne got the feeling she didn't really get it, as heck, he didn't either.

Weir studied both Dex and Teyla carefully. "You're both all right?"

"It was very close," Teyla acknowledged in a more serious tone.

Dex nodded, adding, "But once you get to know the Lubri, they're pretty decent people."

Teyla simply rolled her eyes at that calm assessment. Lorne knew that Dex viewed things differently than the Athosian.

"If you will excuse us, Dr. Weir, Major Lorne," said Teyla. "We will go to the infirmary to check on how the colonel and Rodney are doing."

"Of course," replied Weir. "I'll be down shortly."

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_To be continued.. just one more part!_


	4. Chapter 4

TITLE: **Night of the Reindeer**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
RATING: T  
CATEGORY: Action/humor  
SPOILERS: Based in season 2.

**SUMMARY: Colonel Sheppard's team should never go through the gate on Christmas eve. It just never works out. An SGA Christmas tale.**.

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**PART 5**

The best laid plans didn't always work out. Beckett really didn't want the infirmary crowded with people while they tended to their newest patients, which, she realized, included Ronon and Teyla as well.

Elizabeth hadn't noticed the abraded wrists when they'd returned from the mission. Ronon's long sleeves, and Teyla's jacket, had initially obscured the injuries from view, and neither of the two had pushed for treatment. Apparently when Beckett discovered the raw rope burns on both Sheppard's and McKay's wrists, he'd naturally checked out the other team members.

It was after half an hour that Elizabeth felt comfortable in leaving the holiday party. It was called many things: the Christmas party, the holiday party, the 'experiment can wait a day' party by a few workaholic scientists. Many of the Athosians had come over via puddle jumper for the festivities. They didn't celebrate Christmas, nor yet understood the concept of it, but instead took advantage of a more congenial atmosphere to get to know the expedition members better.

As overall leader of the expedition, she had to be there to start the festivities. Beckett had all but ordered her to be bright and cheerful. At least she was able to report that Sheppard and his team, although a bit worse for the wear, would be fine within a day or two. That brought smiles to many of the people who had heard of the mission's nearly disastrous ending.

She'd slip out every now and then, wandering down to the infirmary, but realized her concerns were ungrounded. Both Teyla and, remarkably, Ronon, had not left. They'd taken up spots on the beds opposite where Sheppard and McKay were fast asleep in their own beds, like sentinels guarding their flock. She couldn't blame them for not wanting to leave; the team had been taken captive and threatened with death just minutes after arriving through the Stargate.

Midnight came, and the party slowly died down. By two in the morning, it had faded away entirely, just a pleasant memory. Volunteers cleaned up the remains of the festivities.

Morning rolled around quickly enough. It seemed like any other day on Atlantis, full of promise but also simmering with the knowledge that at any moment, things could fall horribly apart.

Elizabeth checked the control room first. All was quiet. There was a tiny fir tree – someone had brought it over from the mainland, stuck it in a pot of soil – with a few homemade ornaments on it, as well as a set of fake reindeer antlers. They'd belonged to Peter Grodin. An Athosian child had made them for him as a gift, and he'd insisted on wearing them all of last Christmas.

Peter was gone now, one of many casualties of the Wraith siege against Atlantis almost a year ago.

She sighed. She missed Peter. Missed his smile. His gentle voice and how he imparted a sense of calm and sanity when the roof was falling in around them. The fabric was soft under her touch, and she hoped that whoever had brought out the antlers would make it a yearly ritual, so that those who had died would be remembered at this special time of year.

Beckett finally gave her the go-ahead to visit that morning. After midnight, he'd banned all visitors. Not so much because it was after hours or that his patients needed sleep. No, actually, both Sheppard and McKay had risen from their short sleep and proceeded to be more than a bit sick from their spot of overindulgence.

Cup of steaming black coffee in hand, Elizabeth entered the infirmary. The lights were dimmed to the point it could still be midnight. She spotted a lump under several blankets on one bed. Pillows were arranged around the spot where she assumed the head should be. A protective barrier against the outside world? She couldn't tell who it was hiding and the other bed was empty.

Beckett came around the corner. He held a finger up to his lips in the classic 'quiet' gesture, then came closer, drawing her off to the side. "Poor Rodney. He finally got back to sleep just a few hours ago."

"Where's John?"

"Ah, come to my office."

Elizabeth followed, worried at this new development. Her fears faded away when Beckett stopped at the doorway, nodding his head toward the inside of the small room. Sheppard was in a chair in the corner. His legs were propped up on another chair, and someone had wrapped him up and covered with him with a blanket. His head was nestled against a pillow placed between him and the wall.

"Every time he'd finally get to sleep on the bed, he'd wake up not long after, pretty startled," explained Beckett. "He wandered in here after losing all his lunch. Been sound asleep since sitting down here."

Elizabeth could understand that. Teyla had given her a little more detail on one of her visits to the infirmary the night before. It had been a very tense situation on Lubri, and had the 'executioner' not had strong arms, he might not have been able to stop the axe in time. Even a few mugs of strong ale wouldn't be able to eradicate the memories of nearly being decapitated.

"Plus every time he woke up, he'd wake up Rodney, and well, God forbid Rodney wake up again until he's totally sober," Beckett remarked, frowning painfully.

"Yes, I've never heard a Christmas song so badly mangled in my life," agreed Elizabeth, keeping her voice down to a whisper.

"Ach, reminded me of when my mum's neighbor's pup was hit by a lorry. Dreadful, pathetic noise," said Beckett.

Elizabeth took a tiny sip of her coffee. Still too hot. She studied Sheppard from the doorway, fearful of moving in too close and awakening him. She was tempted to sit nearby, just to make sure he was truly all right. The thin, red cut on his neck was obscured by the blankets tucked around him, but the discoloration on his face… she knew bruises always looked worse the next day but he looked pretty bad. "Is he…?" she trailed off.

"Oh, just surface bruising," Beckett said with a relaxed smile. "No fractures, not even a concussion this time around. The man's got a strong skull, and he's handled the whole mess a lot better than Rodney, but then Rodney really doesn't drink, does he?"

"No pity for me? It's Christmas." The voice was a bit raspy, but definitely John Sheppard's.

"John, you're awake." Elizabeth decided this was her invite to sit down next to him, so she pulled up the extra chair.

"No, it's just another bad dream, like the reindeer," he muttered, grimacing as he poked tentatively at his face. "Oh good, head's still attached."

"Yes, it is," agreed Weir happily. She watched him nestle his hand back under the blanket, then squint suspiciously at her.

"I'm okay," he insisted.

"Of course you are," she replied. He was the kind of man who never liked to admit misery, even though it was written all over his face. She noticed his gaze drift slowly from her face down to her hands.

"Coffee?" he said curiously.

"I don't think so, colonel," warned Beckett from his desk.

"Carson, I haven't thrown up since…" His eyebrows drew down in deep thought, or maybe that was just a headache. "Uh… since the last time, and it wasn't anywhere near as spectacular as Rodney." He offered a wan smile. "Technicolor, all over Nurse Collins. You know, the one who's picked up all of Zelenka's wonderful Czech swear words. Think she used half of 'em last night."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at this tiny revelation. She'd missed that part of their recovery and quite honestly, didn't mind it a bit. She'd seen enough people throw up throughout her career, and amazingly, it hadn't been during college, but at high-brow diplomatic functions where dignitaries indulged far too much.

"Don't make me beg, Elizabeth." Sheppard snaked a hand out from under the cover, reaching for the mug in an almost pitiful gesture. She was so tempted but…

"Oh, go ahead," sighed Beckett. "He'll just steal mine if you don't, and he's had enough anti-nausea meds he may be able to handle a sip or two. At most," he added as a not-very-subtle warning.

Sheppard gratefully accepted the mug and brought it up to his lips, but instead of drinking it, he just shut his eyes and breathed in its steam as though it were hot chocolate on a cold winter's day.

"That's it?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm easing into this, okay?" he muttered a little crabbily. "Teyla and Ronon finally leave?"

"That they did," said Beckett. "Rodney's rendition of 'Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer' did not go over well with them."

"Ah." Sheppard grimaced. "I must have been out for that."

"Wish I'd been," Beckett muttered dismally under his breath. Elizabeth shook her head in mock dismay, which the physician rightfully ignored.

"Rodney?" asked Sheppard.

"He'll live," she replied, resisting the urge to break into a big grin.

"That's good," said Sheppard in what sounded almost like an afterthought, but Elizabeth knew the casual words belied a deeper worry for his friend. "After all, have to thank him for ticking off someone so badly they gave him that fruitcake. Saved our butts."

"That would be Dr. Grange," explained Elizabeth. "Apparently the fruitcake has passed through approximately 21 sets of hands since it arrived on the Daedalus last month with the mail call."

Sheppard started to shake his head, not remembering the name, but then stopped. Movement was probably still painful. He had to have a dreadful headache.

"Red hair, black horn-rimmed glasses," described Elizabeth. "Came in a few months ago on the Daedalus."

"Ah, yeah." Sheppard stopped, placing the very warm mug against his forehead. His eyes shut in welcome relief as the heat soaked in. "No, uh, no, don't know him."

Elizabeth could tell that even the few minutes of discussion was exhausting for Sheppard. Beckett was hovering close by and she expected any second now he'd tap at his watch and point his finger toward the door.

"Why don't you get some more sleep?" she suggested.

"'m okay," he murmured faintly, eyes still shut. "I'll get some sleep once Rudolph and his buddies stop beating my skull with candy canes."

Elizabeth was confused for a second, until the description of the missing fruitcake package came back to mind: dozens of tiny reindeer and little dancing candy canes plastered against a bright Christmas background of brilliant red, green and silver. Zelenka had obtained a rather detailed description of the package before he'd gone on his hunt.

"Don't worry." She carefully removed the mug from his hand before he spilled any of the coffee. "We'll keep the reindeer away."

"You do that," he replied, turning his head toward the soft pillow.

Elizabeth watched him for a few minutes as his breath steadied out. The slightly strain frown dissipated as well, and after a minute, she realized he'd fallen into a restful slumber.

Beckett leaned behind her, touching her gently on the arm to indicate she should go. "He'll be fine." Elizabeth followed him out of the office, back into the main section of the infirmary. She wandered over to the rather large lump on the bed, noticing that there had been a slight change in position. "And Rodney?" she asked.

"I suspect he'll be here another day," replied Beckett. "The Colonel will probably want to leave later today, and he's healthy enough, really, to do so, although I expect he'll just go to his quarters for some peace and quiet."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

"Now, Rodney here," began Beckett, but then he stopped abruptly. "Oh dear. Here we go again."

Elizabeth looked at the monitors, expecting to see a disastrous arc or something fly across the screen, but realized that Rodney wasn't hooked up to any machines. Instead, she saw two hands reaching out in a rather feeble manner. She winced when she noticed bandages around each wrist, evidence of when their new 'trading partners' had tied them up for several hours.

"I'm blind," croaked a hoarse voice. "I knew it! Alcohol poisoning!

"Rodney, you have half the pillows in the infirmary atop ye," admonished Beckett lightly. "I'd be more worried about asphyxiating. Your eyes are perfectly fine. So's ye liver. I've told you this at least six times already."

Elizabeth leaned down a little, peeling back a few scrunched-up pillows to peer underneath the white cloth cave. Two wide eyes stared back at her from the dark depths, very much like a frantic raccoon cornered in its den. "Rodney, you're going to be fine."

The hands immediately grabbed the pillows, sucking them into that hole. "Ack, too bright!" he screeched. A moment later, the pillows ruffled again, the two hands burrowing out so Rodney could see outside again. A worried voice echoed from the cocoon. "Sheppard? Where is he?"

Elizabeth realized Rodney had a perfect view of the empty bed across from him.

"Sleeping it off in my office," replied Beckett. "And you would be well advised to continue resting as well."

"You're sure?" came a timid question.

"Yes, the colonel's fine," repeated Beckett.

"Oh, good for him," Rodney grumbled sarcastically. "He kept waking me up last night and now my brain is melting."

Elizabeth watched the pillows suck back in upon themselves, like a negative image of a black hole drawing in everything around it. A second later, Beckett snagged her by her elbow, steering her unerringly toward the infirmary's outer doors.

"They will be all right, Elizabeth." Beckett appeared serious for a moment, perhaps remembering worse times when those two men had been his patients, but then his familiar and reassuring smile appeared. "They had a rough night, but they'll be both be out of here by day's end."

"I know," she agreed, looking back into the infirmary. "And I suppose I did get my Christmas wish fulfilled."

Beckett looked perplexed. "I don't understand."

"That they all made it back in one piece, Carson," she replied, taking a sip of her coffee. "We've had far too many times when the mission has seemed simple and…" She left her words drift away. Both of them could too easily remember the names and faces of those men and women who had never returned to Atlantis.

"There is that," he agreed, a wistful expression crossing his eyes. "Only…"

"Yes?" Elizabeth stared at him, hoping there wouldn't be any lasting problems from the mission.

"I can understand the colonel being a wee bit annoyed about reindeer, particularly after Rodney's…" Beckett winced as though in abject pain. "…singing. However, I'm not sure why he thinks they're beating him up with candy canes."

"You didn't see the fruitcake package, I gather?" she asked.

"Oh heavens no," Beckett crossed his arms. "Total waste of good ingredients."

"I happen to like fruitcake," Elizabeth frowned. "In fact, it almost sounds like I'm the only person on Atlantis who does."

"You've never tried Dundee Cake, I see." Beckett tsk-tsked, shaking his head as though she'd missed out on the chance of a lifetime. "Shame we can't get any of that out here in the Pegasus Galaxy."

Elizabeth listened with rapt interest as Beckett described the various delicacies he'd grown up with in Scotland. While they were being introduced to a variety of new and fascinating Pegasus Galaxy foods, she realized that the simple foods from home, particularly at Christmas, were special to each member of the expedition. Perhaps next year, if the wraith left them alone and it could be arranged, the Daedalus could 'import' in more than just a fruitcake or two from Earth.

And definitely, most definitely, she would not let Colonel Sheppard's team go out on any missions the day before Christmas.

**THE END!**

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_Author's Note: Thanks for all the feedback:)_


End file.
